Let the Sky Fall
by HogwartsDreamer113
Summary: "The districts are helpless... just when they think they have grasped our ways, their sky - their world as they know it, that is - will fall once more." After three successful games, the Capitol is hungry for more. When the games are taken to freezing, mysterious ice caves, who will survive, and who will fall? The 4th Games, from the POV of eight OCs owned by me. Partial SYOT.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. Nor do I own the song or James Bond movie "Skyfall" after which this story is named.**

**Prologue**

**Marius Venici**

**24 years of age**

**Capitolite **

"Marius?" the voice of Maximilian, my producer, calls as he raps on the door. "Are you almost ready? You are on in ten."

"Yes, Max, I'll be there soon," I answer in a voice that is much calmer than how I feel. In reality, I'm still stressing out. Have I covered every blemish on my face? Is there a hair out of place? Is my voice warmed up and ready to go? I suppose I needn't get so worked up, but I can't help but feel anxious. It's not every day a television interviewer is allowed to speak with the marvelous President Benedictus Simmons one on one on national television. I may be Marius Venici, the famous host of a nightly talk show, but even so, being asked to interview President Simmons is no small accomplishment. I will not take it for granted, and I will not mess up. I am only twenty-four years of age, and it is incredible I have managed to climb as high on the ladder of fame as I am at the young age of twenty-four, and falling down back to the bottom is one of my greatest nightmares. I can only suspect the only reason I have the job of hosting tonight's show is because my father, Bartholomew Venici, is the new Head Gamemaker of these Games, and the reason this interview, viewable by Capitolite eyes only, is being held in the first place.

It's hard to believe the Hunger Games were first enacted three years ago. Since then, the Capitolites of Panem have gotten slightly bored. They do not like seeing the same thing for too long, certainly not more than two years in a row. It seems as though Capitolites yearn for changes as much and as often as they yearn for changes in fashion trends. The last Head Gamemaker went as far as to move the arena, but a simple, plain forest arena was not enough. The Capitol wants more excitement, more intensity, more tension, and my father believes he can bring it to the demanding citizens of the grandest city in Panem. Thus, here I am, preparing myself for an interview revealing secrets of arena of the upcoming Fourth Annual Hunger Games.

The first two Hunger Games were kept simple. They were held in an open-roofed arena, a cross between the ancient Colosseum and a baseball stadium. Rows upon rows of seating, accessible from the field down below, made for good hiding places for the tributes. About ten VIP Seating boxes were scattered around nearly a hundred feet up, but they remained empty for the majority of the games. At the edge of the arena, long hallways curved around the entire stadium, forming several levels, with abandoned concession stands spread out every once in a while. Trapdoors lead underneath the dirty covered floor, but not many tributes ventured down there. Those who did never returned, having fallen victim to the lion, tiger, and elephant mutts being stored there. When not much action was occurring, a few of the mutts would be released into the arena at a time. Tributes were reluctant to kill, even after the tributes from Twelve were blown to bits, so the majority of the tributes were killed by the mutts. After twelve hours and thirty-seven minutes, the girl from Five was mauled to death by a lion, while Timber Kasson, the sixteen-year-old boy from District Seven watched in horror. He was crowned the first victor of the Hunger Games, despite only having killed one tribute in self-defense.

The second games were a lot like the first, only much faster paced. Manipulative Valiant Pennington formed a tight alliance with three other tributes. They were foolish enough to follow him through out the whole games. Valiant and his alliance killed seven of the other tributes. Their first clue to leave him should have been when the boy from Three was gored by a rhinoceros mutt, and Valiant did nothing for his ally. Yet, his district partner and the overly-trusting boy from Eight stayed with him. In five hours and forty-three minutes, all the other tributes were dead, and Valiant literally stabbed his district partner right in the back. The boy from Eight tried to run, but it was too late. The eighteen-year-old from One was the victor that year.

The Capitol was enjoying the Games, but they were starting to get a little bored. The arena was simple, _too _simple, many thought. Even twelve hours out of the whole year was too short. Capitolites waited for months for an event that didn't even last a day. There wasn't much Gamemakers could do to improve the arena. The stadium-arena was abandoned, and tributes were placed in a newly-built forest arena about thirty miles from the outskirts of District Seven. The arena was on only a few of land, but it was big enough, the Gamemakers speculated, to keep the Capitolites entertained for several days. However, no one anticipated the actions of Patriot Salem, Panem's first volunteer. He threw a curveball into the whole gameplan, killing thirteen of his competition. In just under three hours, all other tributes were dead but two. The boy from Eleven had been trailing Patriot, but he was no match for the seventeen-year-old from District Two. Patriot became the third victor of Panem.

"Marius? Now! We don't want to keep President Simmons waiting!" I jump at Maximilian's sudden, sharp words. He's normally not so pushy or snappy. He must be as nervous as I am.

Well, I will not disappoint him. I _cannot._ To do so would be disappointing not only him, but my entire family. Straightening my tie, I try to look as confident as I can before swinging open the door.

"It's showtime."

Lights shine blindingly and the crowd roars deafeningly as I walk out to the stage, waving enthusiastically. My theme music plays in the background, loud enough to be heard over the audience. Hundreds of people sit in the luxurious seats of the auditorium, and thousands more sit on their couches at home, all with their eyes centered on me, waiting eagerly. Here it goes.

"Welcome, welcome!" I greet my viewers, hoping the glistening of the sweat on my forehead does not show up on camera. "I'm Marius Venici, and I am _delighted _to announce the appearances of two very special guests tonight! As you know, the Hunger Games have been a tremendous success in quelling the districts. However, I'm craving even more excitement, aren't you?" The crowd cheers loudly in response. "Excellent! I know our wise President Simmons agrees. We'll be speaking with him later tonight on the future of these glorious Hunger Games, next year's in particular! But first, let's hear from our new Head Gamemaker, my own father, Bartholomew Venici!"

My father mounts the stage, looking as prideful of always. Interviewing him is easy. I'm comfortable questioning him, yet we are as familiar as strangers to each other. My father never has treated any of his children as equals. It has always been a "be seen and not heard" lifestyle at my family home, and only Mother could ask him questions of his career. This interview, of course, is an exception. It is probably the longest conversation I've had with him in a while.

Father is secretive through out the interview. He knows how to give enough information about the arena to excite the Capitolites, but not so much as to totally give it away. By the end of the interview, my father has only revealled that the arena will be bigger, more complex, more intense, and colder than ever. The most intriquing piece is when he says, "I hope the tributes like caves." Cold? Caves? Complex? I can hardly wait to see what sort of arena my brilliant father has come up with.

We go on a five minute commercial break, which gives me the chance to wipe off some sweat and rehydrate. My legs quiver with nerves, despite my efforts to get them to keep still. _It's only the President. Only the President. Only the biggest interview of my career. No pressure. _I don't have time to get nervous. Before I know it, I'm back on air.

"Welcome back, citizens of Panem! We have just finished our interview with Head Gamemaker Bartholomew Venici, and my, what fabous ideas he seems to have! I simply cannot wait to see this arena. And now, give it up for the man who makes it all possible… President Bennedictus Simmons!"

The crowd applauds wildly as President Simmons makes himself visible. He's a man of average height, is balding, and has a pot-belly, but he is intimidating never the less. He even intimidates me, making me feel as though one false move will cost me my life. Not to my surprise, when I begin to speak, my voice is a bit shaky. "How are you, Mr. President?" I begin.

"Very well, Mr. Venici. Yourself?"

"Wonderful, thank you. Three years ago, when you first enacted the Hunger Games, many of us assumed it would be a one-time event. Yet, here we are, at year four. If you would, Mr. President, could you explain why that is?"

"Why end a good thing?" President Simmons asks with an eerily cold smile. "It is an effective way of keeping the districts in line, is it not? Tell me, have we seen any uprisings since the games began?"

"No sir," I say. "Would I be correct in saying you believe this is the best way to control the district?"

President Simmons nods. "The only way. Fear is the Capitols most valued weapon. Fear of the reaping, fear of losing children, is what will keep the districts quiet."

"What about the Capitolites? Will they be satisfied with the new arena?"

"I should hope so. Mr. Venici has done an excellent job with it."

"What can you tell us about the arena?"

President Simmons chuckles. "I'm sure Mr. Venici has given everything away he wishes to. That is not my question to answer, I'm afraid."

I smile slightly, easing more and more into the interview. This isn't so hard. Time passes by, and I am surprised when my watch produces I tiny beep. One minute left. "Last question, Mr. President…. How will this arena effect all future Hunger Games and the people of the districts?"

"This twist will show the districts just what the Capitol is capable of," President Simmons replies. "It will prove that the Games are ever changing, and the Capitol is in full control. The districts are helpless. They can never know what to expect, and just when they think they have grasped our ways, their sky - their world as they know it, that is - will fall once more. The Games will continue for as long as my successors and I see fit. Today, tomorrow, and forever, the Capitol of Panem will reign supreme."

The audiance applauds as President Simmons concludes, cueing me in. "Thank you for joining us tonight, Mr. President! And thank you, citizens of Panem! This is Marius Venici for Capitol Television! Goodnight!"

The lights snap off on stage, and the auditorium plunges into darkness as applause erupts.

**Author's Note: Hello, and welcome to the Fourth Annual Hunger Games. This story will be told in the POV of Eight OCs owned by me. The victor WILL be one of mine, but the others can be submitted through the SYOT form on my profile. Please read the guidelines before submitting. There will be a Sponsor System as well. Review or PM me with any questions. TRIBUTES WILL ONLY BE ACCEPTED THROUGH PM. **

**Sponsor Question (worth 5 sponsor points): What do you think of Marius Venici? Would you like to see him again in a POV?**

**Character List:**

**District 1 male: Beauregard Laire, 15, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 1 female:**

**District 2 male: Special requirements wanted. PM me if you want to submit this tribute. Nothing to major, just has to mesh with his district partner and mentor.**

**District 2 female: Concordia Afton, 18, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 3 male: Baldwin Fridley, 13, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 3 female:**

**District 4 male: Ciacco Capitani, 17, CelticGames4**

**District 4 female:**

**District 5 male:**

**District 5 female: Rhea Medina, 18, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 6 male:**

**District 6 female:**

**District 7 male: Kauri Andoni, 16, Kate-the-Great-and-Powerful**

**District 7 female: Heather Bradshaw, 17, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 8 male:**

**District 8: female:**

**District 9 male: Omri Hibbing, 17, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 9 female:**

**District 10 male: Knox Sibley, 14, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 10 female:**

**District 11 male:**

**District 11 female:**

**District 12 male:**

**District 12 female: Anise Sartell, 16, HogwartsDreamer113**

**Thank you Kate-The-Great-And-Powerful and CelticGames4 for submitting Kauri and Ciacco. :). Reviews are important to me, so thank you if you choose to do so.**


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I barely had enough tributes to get this chapter out, but I was eager to get started. Updates will not be this fast normally. I just happen to have a week with a ton of spare time. School starts the second of September for me, and after that updates will come a lot less often, every other week if I'm lucky, since I am writing two stories at once.**

**I hope you enjoy the first chapter. :) Thank you to Kate, Annabeth - theTributeThatLived, and LokiThisIsMadness for Kauri, Tiffany, and Khal respectively. :) **

**Chapter 1: Reapings Part 1**

**Heather Bradshaw, age 17, District Seven **

After what seems like hours of anticipation, a beautiful, graceful doe steps out of the shadows. She approaches the pond with caution, completely unaware of the seventeen-year-old girl perched in a tree twelve feet above her, watching her intently in amazement and appreciation. My brothers, Igor and Carver, think sitting in a tree waiting for animals to pass by is a waste of time. Rowena would rather be helping my mother cook breakfast, do housework, or make scarves and hats to sell to the lumberjacks than be out in the woods "doing nothing" as she says, while Keeva is too fidgety to stay out here too long. Amber would be out here with me, but on Reaping Day, she's too nervous to keep still. When she's nervous, Amber needs to keep moving to keep her mind off everything. She's probably jogging through wooded trails right about now, enjoying nature in her own way. While my siblings have other, more important ways to spend their time, I for one like spending my time in the woods, keeping as still as a lurking predator.

Even if I don't see anything more than song birds, squirrels, and chipmunks, just being in nature is therapeutic. I have come out to the woods every year on this date, the day that has become known as "Reaping Day". I have a right to be on edge. Not only am I worried for my own safety, but I have three family members to worry about as well. With myself at seventeen, Amber at sixteen, Rowena at fourteen, and Carver at twelve, we have four names in the reaping bowl, bringing our total to fifteen slips with the name "Bradshaw" on them. Only Igor and Keeva are safe. Igor is nineteen, so this is his first year being safe, while Keeva is at the other end, being only eleven. She is safe for one more year. If Amber, Rowena, or Carver were reaped, I don't know what I'd do. Until last year, when Patriot Salem stepped right onto that stage willing, I hadn't even considered volunteering to take their place. Even now though, I don't think I could do it. I'm too much of a coward.

Finally, after a minute or two of cautious observing, the doe bows her head and begins to drink. She looks peaceful, until a rock lands with a plunk near her face. The doe startles before scrambling into the woods. I look down at into the bushes at the base of my tree to find the culprit, my little brother Carver with a slingshot in hand, looking quite smug. I scurry down the tree and land right in front of him. "Carver!" I hiss. "What were you thinking?!"

Carver snickers. "I'm bored, and I wanted to annoy you!"

"You could have hurt her! You're lucky I'm not reporting you!" In District Seven, it is illegal to hunt woodland animals without a permit. As it is, it is very hard to obtain one, and those who do aren't allowed the make any sort of profit off any meat they catch. Without a permit, even harming animals would earn the violator a whipping.

Carver rolls his eyes. "You wouldn't report me!"

"Sure I would," I reply coldly. "You can't go breaking the law, Carver." Of course, I wouldn't really report Carver, not for throwing a rock at a deer. I can't stand the idea of him being whipped, even if he did break the law. He needs to learn, though, in case he ever gets caught.

"Whatever. Mom says breakfast is ready," Craver says, heading back towards home. I sigh before following him. For whatever reason, Mom thinks holding a big family breakfast an hour and a half before we have to be at the reaping will help calm us down. I can tell she and Dad are as nervous as we are . It's no secret.

"Heather!" Keeva cries, flinging her arms around me. "Promise you won't be reaped!"

"You know I can't promise that, Keeva," I say, looking down into her pleading hazel eyes. Oddly enough, Keeva is the only one of the six of us to have inherited Mom's eyes. The rest of us have Dad's mud brown ones. Our hair though, varies more. Keeva, Carver, and I all have Mom's medium brown hair, while Igor, Amber, and Rowena have hair that is dark brown, almost black, like Dad's.

Keeva continues to cling to me, until Amber comes in from her run. Keeva then moves on to her, trying to make her promise not to be reaped as well. My mom, Linda, looks on sadly.

Soon, the six of us plus Mom are gathered around the table. "Where's Dad?" Amber asks.

Right on cue, we hear the now familiar tap of rubber on wood as Dad lumbers down the stairs. Dad severely injured his leg in the rebellion, and has had to use a cane to move around ever since. All of us are just thankful we didn't lose more than Dad's ease of mobility. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he grunts, taking one step at a time before sliding into his seat at the table.

We eat the scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast Mom made us, talking like any other day, until Keeva speaks up. "I don't want any of you to be reaped," she whimpers. Keeva has been voicing these fears ever since she was eight-years-old.

Igor reaches across the table and clasps Keeva's hand. "Hey, how many reapings have there been?"

"Three."

"And how many times has that ditzy escort called a Bradshaw?"

"None…"

"Exactly!" Igor grins. "This year will be exactly the same."

Keeva smiles slightly, but the rest of breakfast is quiet, with Rowena trying her best to make conversation. After breakfast, we get dressed in our best clothing. Even Mom, Dad, Igor, and Keeva are dressed in their finest. I do Amber's hair, and then she does mine, while Mom works on Rowena's. When everyone is ready, we walk to the Justice building. Those of us not in the reaping split off to stand in the audience, while this rest of us stand in line to have our blood drawn. Finally, my sisters, brother, and I break off into our separate age sections.

Once my section, I find a group of my friends, and we chat nervously, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Sitting in a single chair is nineteen-year-old Timber Kasson, the first victor. Timber stares out absent-mindedly into the crowd, as if hundreds of children aren't standing around waiting to find out if they have a death sentence. The mayor gives his speech, and the escort comes to the stage. The same videos as the other three years plays, and the escort takes the microphone. "Let's start with the girls," she says in a bored, monotone voice as soon as the video ends. She reaches into the bowl and pulls out a name, wasting no time.

"Heather Bradshaw," she says, like it's not big deal. But it is. That… that's my name. I stumble forward, stupefied. To make matters worse I trip over nothing but my own feet. With tears threatening to spill over and my face hot, I finally make my way to the stage. Once there, I look out, searching for my family. My Dad has my Mom in his arms, and she has her head buried in his side. Keeva and Rowena are sobbing, while the boys are staring at me in horror and shock. Amber stands frozen, her mouth open partly, as if she was about to say something, but thought better of it. Seeing them, I can't stop the tears from flowing.

By now, the escort is calling the boy's name. "Kauri Andoni." At first, no one moves, but it is clear who Kauri is. A gap has opened in the sixteen year old section around a boy with terror frozen on his face. A boy next to him nudges him, and then he slowly makes his way up to the stage trying to look brave. Sorry, Kauri, but it's a little late for that. As soon as he gets here, the escort opens her mouth again. "District Seven, your tributes Heather Bradshaw and Kauri Andoni."

I don't want to die. I don't want to kill either. But I have to win. One way or another, I'm going to win.

* * *

**Beauregard Laire, age 15, District One.**

"Come on, Royal, what is the one thing I never do when it comes to Eden Henrich?" I ask my best friend as we search through carts of rubble at the entrance of one of One's diamond mines. We're not supposed to be here, of course, since it's "too dangerous" but when do I ever follow the rules? Ha, never!

"Give up," Royal sighs. "But come on, we have an hour 'til the reaping! You're parents will kill us if we're late! Not to mention the Peacekeepers! Can't you do this later?"

"No!" I exclaim dramatically, clasping a hand over my heart. "What if I'm _reaped_? What if I never see Eden again? Oh, the _agony_!"

Royal rolls his eyes. "She's not even interested in you."

"Oh, but she will be," I reply. "Keep looking."

Royal continues to shift through his cart, not saying another word. I am going to find the perfect diamond for Eden, no matter what the cost. I will not give up the chase. Eden Henrich will be mine eventually. Finally, Royal speaks up again, "What about this?"

He's holding up a tiny, dull diamond that's no bigger than a pebble. It's a diamond yes, but not big enough to impress Eden. I shake my head, and about to reply when I suddenly find my arm clamped in a firm, unrelenting grip. I slowly turn my head around to face my captor and am not surprised to find Mr. Montique, a friend of my father's and owner of this mine.

"Run for your life, Royal! Save yourself!" Royal does as he's told, keeping the diamond. We've been here often enough that he knows if we get caught to always keep our findings. If he handed the diamond over to me, Mr. Montique would have surely taken it.

"What do we have here," Mr. Montique sneers. "I should have known you'd be here, boy. Your father called me as soon as he awoke and discovered your absence. He is not pleased."

"I image not," I mutter as Mr. Montique drags me roughly back home. I would struggle, but I have learned by now that the more I resist, the more hours of grounding and forced housework I have to do as punishment. As to be expected, Father stands in the doorway, looking very cross.

"I found him and his friend in the mines, just as I expected."

Father nods grimly. "Thank you Josiah, I'll take it from here." He turns back and heads into the house, expecting me to follow, and I do. "Tell me, Beauregard, when will you ever stop acting like a child and do what you're told. You can't expect to go anywhere with this sort of behavior."

"Yes Father," I mutter. Father is never physically abusive. His yelling and insults is enough to make me feel useless. Mother isn't as vocal, but the disappointed aura she is constantly giving off is almost worse. Sometimes it is better to say, "Yes, Father" or "Yes, Mother" than to argue.

"Get upstairs," Father says. "Your mother is waiting to make you look presentable."

I nod, and hurry up the stairs, skipping a few along the way. "Walk!" Father bellows, and I scowl, slowing dramatically, making sure both feet have touched each stair before taking the next one. Mother stands in the bathroom, waiting for me. She doesn't say a word as she hands me my dress clothes and waits for me as I dress in the privacy of my own room. When I finish, she slicks my hair back with some gel and makes sure my tie is done up properly. Finally, all the fussing is over with, and I head out the door, with my parents walking a good distance behind me, making it seem as though they are not related to me. Many people know better though.

I find Royal again, standing to the side of the line, waiting for me. "Do you still have it?" I ask.

He nods, and hands me the diamond, which I slip into my pocket. The two of us get in line and head to the section of fifteen-year-old boys. Before I take my place, I spot the most beautiful girl in the district. Eden Henrich. I slip under the two ropes separating us and get down on one knee. "Roses are red," I begin in the most swoon-worthy voice I can manage. "Violets are blue. My heart is aching, just to kiss you."

The girls around Eden giggle madly, while she looks at me in disgust. "Roses are red. Violets are blue. How much I despise you, you really have no clue."

I gasp, feigning hurt. "Ouch! That hurt Eden!" In reality, I think I'll be okay..

"Whatever, Laire," Eden says, rolling her eyes. "Just go back to your section."

"And why would I do that?"

"I would do what the young lady asks of you," A voice says behind me. A Peacekeeper. Even I'm not dumb enough to mess with a guy with a gun. Ruefully, I take my position next to Royal. Valiant Pennington, our resident victor, skims over the crowd, as if looking for this year's victor. An annoying escort takes the stage, showing the same video as in past years. Then she strides over to the girls reaping bowl. "Evangeline Alcott!"

There is a moments hesitation before I hear a high-pitched cry from a girl who I can only assume is Evangeline. "No!"

"I volunteer!"

Everyone turns to look at a seventeen-year-old girl striding proudly towards the stage. She's a stereotypical looking District One girl, with long, wavy blonde hair and blue eyes and is fairly muscular. Her attitude tells me she volunteered not for the twelve-year-old girl, but for herself. Valiant looks pleased, unlike last year, when he ended up with a fourteen-year-old girl and a sixteen-year old fraidy-cat. Patriot Salem killed both tributes.

The escort looks excited. "Oh my goodness! A volunteer! The second in history! Wait until Adelaide sees! What's your name, dear?"

"Tiffany Lux!" the girl beams with so much enthusiasm that I want to barf.

"Congratulations, Tiffany! I love your sense of District pride!" The escort reaches into the boys bowl. "Beauregard Laire!"

Wait, what? Me?! Why me?! I quickly compose myself and plaster on a smile to match Tiffany's. I can't let her out do me. If I am to survive this, I'll have to put on my A game.

* * *

**Rhea Medina, age 18, District Five**

I've heard the teenage years can be the hardest part of one's life. In my case, I hope that's true. For me, my teenage years started out rough, and they haven't improved yet. The year I turned thirteen was the year the rebellion was truly under way. By the time I was fourteen the rebels had lost. My brother Isaiah, only nineteen at the time, was killed on the battlefield. Other district rebels dragged him back home. My father, Marco, was the manager of Five's largest power plant, the one that provides the Capitol with more than enough electricity than they really need. His role in the rebellion was to cut off the Capitol's power. He succeeded, but was later captured by the Capitol. Rebels managed to bring back a report of who was lost, my father included. They had been tortured to death for information. My sister, Maya, seventeen at the time, fought along side Isaiah. To this day no one has found her, dead or alive. I was back home, comforting my younger brothers, Ezra, age nine, and Jeremiah, age seven, while my mother nervously kept watch. Now thirteen and eleven, the boys and my mother. Them, and my few close friends.

My mother, Annette, is one of the strongest people I know. She now works two shifts, and my brothers and I rarely see her. With my sister gone, and my mother constantly busy, I have no one to confide in. I can't even trust my friends with my deepest secrets. It would be nice to talk to Maya about my ever raging hormones, and my uncontrollable feelings of attraction. Feelings that I'm not even fully comfortable with. Feelings I wish would go away. Feelings that I decided long ago I should keep to myself. Feelings I'm afraid that if I let them show, I will be harassed, or worse. I'm come to terms with myself a little bit more, but I know some people never will. So I hide. And I always will. The truth is, I've always been insecure with myself. Not just with my sexuality, but with everyone. For whatever reason, I need people to like me. If not like me, than to at least leave me only. I'm a people-pleaser and a perfectionist. My mother would understand, but she's gone so often, and when she is home, she is exhausted, so it is hard to find time to talk. She works hard though, and does her best to be cheerful for the boys and I.

These past couple of years, I have built up a tough shell. I'm generally easy going, often saying, "that's cool" or "sure" to most suggestions, other than those that threaten either my life or the lives of others. Most times I mean it, and I'm usually very versatile. Others though, I'd rather agree to doing something I don't really feel like doing, just to avoid making anyone mad or annoyed with me. By now it's what's expected of me. It's why I'm well-liked at school, but only have a small group of friends.

I wake up early at seven in the morning, despite Five's reapings not starting until ten-thirty. My mother is still in bed. Like most people, she has the day off today. Only the plant managers have to go in, to ensure every District's power works on the most important day of the year, especially the Capitol's. My mother is using her morning to catch up on sleep. Her alarm clock is set for ten in case she over sleeps. She would attempt to skip the reaping all together is if weren't for the possibility of Ezra or I being reaped.

I sit outside for an hour or so, watching the rising sun. After a while, I head inside and put on the only formal outfit I own, a mint green dress that used to belong to my sister. Then I tie my rust-colored hair into a tight bun at the back of my head. I heat up some water and poured in the oatmeal, a typical breakfast. Today though, I add in a special treat of chocolate chips. Then I set out to the nearly impossible task of waking my brothers.

"Rise and shine," I say, opening the blinds in the room I share with my brothers. Ezra responds by throwing a pillow at me. I turn on the light, and Ezra groans in response.

"C'mon, Rhea! Really?" After a glare from me, he gets out of bed anyway.

Meanwhile, Jeremiah hides under his pillow. "Come on, Jerry," I sigh.

"Mmm," he grunts. "Why do I even have to go? I'm not even legible."

"Eligible," I correct, trying to laugh. "Would you rather stay here until Uncle Elias wakes up?"

Jeremiah shrugs. "I put chocolate chips in the oatmeal," I bribe, "and there's orange juice."

Jeremiah's head pops up like a jack-in-the-box. "Okay!" he says, leaping out of bed.

After breakfast, the boys get dressed, and we walk to the Justice Building. I find Ellen Motts, our old neighbor and mother of my best friend, Tyler, and she takes Jeremiah off my hands. Tyler, Ezra, and I walk in silence. Being autistic, Tyler doesn't normally say much, but today he's even more quiet, his nerves clearly getting to me. I separate from the boys at the check-in station, wishing them both luck as I join my section of eighteen-year-old girls. I take a deep breath, trying not to look at anyone in particular for too long. One more year, and I'll be free of this reaping. Of course, Ezra and Jeremiah will still be eligible, but there's nothing I can do about that. I look all around me, searching for my brothers, but they are no where in sight. I watch the escort mount the stage and only half-listen as she goes through the annual video. Then she pulls the girl's name.

"Rhea Medina!"

Me. The other girls clear a path for me, giving me sympathetic glances. I keep my eyes averted and once on the stage, I stare at my shoes as if I just notice which style they are in my attempts not to cry or scream or faint. All three would not work out well for me. The escort gives me a disgusted look as if I'm nothing more than horse crap, then moves on to the boys.

"Khal Lucan!"

There is a commotion to the right on the stage where the eighteen-year-old boys stand, and a boy I can vaguely remember seeing at school frantically pushes his way through the crowd. He doesn't run towards the stage though. Instead, he runs towards the section of eighteen-year-old girls from which I just came. He's no match for the nearby peacekeepers, who drag him to the stage. Khal struggles and fights the whole way, but the peacekeepers do not let him go.

"Milah, run!" Khal yells, looking frantically towards a girl with black hair and grey eyes who is very obviously pregnant. Is she his girlfriend, or even his wife? I don't know. Before I can find out what Milah does, the peacekeepers push Khal and I inside the Justice Building and slam the doors shut.

**Author's note: This is easily the longest chapter I've ever written. :) I'll probably a list of how you can earn sponsor points either next chapter or in chapter three. If you favorited and/or followed the story, reviewed, or submitted tributes, congratulations, you have already earned points! Sponsor gifts and prices will be revealed when the Games grow closer**

**Sponsor Question (5 points): Who is your favorite tribute so far? Least favorite? Why?**

**Here is an updated tribute list. Thank you to those who have submitted. For those who are still interested, please check below the form on my profile to see what I still need. :)**

**District 1 male: Beauregard Laire, 15, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 1 female: Tiffany Lux, 17, Annabeth-theTributeThatLived**

**District 2 male: Jackson Admont, 16, nevergone4ever (Pending. Still Expecting one more submission.)**

**District 2 female: Concordia Afton, 18, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 3 male: Baldwin Fridley, 13, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 3 female:**

**District 4 male: Ciacco Capitani, 17, CelticGames4**

**District 4 female:**

**District 5 male: Khal Lucan, 18, LokiThisIsMadness**

**District 5 female: Rhea Medina, 18, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 6 male: **

**District 6 female:**

**District 7 male: Kauri Andoni, 16, Kate-the-Great-and-Powerful**

**District 7 female: Heather Bradshaw, 17, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 8 male: Ragdoll Marciano, 14, Emi the Dark Kitten Prince**

**District 8: female: Angora Patton, 14, Gentle Alouette**

**District 9 male: Omri Hibbing, 17, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 9 female:**

**District 10 male: Knox Sibley, 14, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 10 female:**

**District 11 male:**

**District 11 female:**

**District 12 male:**

**District 12 female: Anise Sartell, 16, HogwartsDreamer113**


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's note: I am back, after a month's delay. The beginning of my senior year of high school has been a little chaotic, with studying for the ACT (an American college acceptance test). But now that that's over and done with, I hope to update a little more often. This chapter only has two reapings, because I think you've waited long enough. The last three reapings will come next chapter.**

**Thank you to flowerninja34 for Troy and taylur for Magnolia. Also thank you to nevergone4ever, who kindly let me move their tribute, Jackson, from Two to Six. Jackson will appear in the story later on.**

**There are still several tributes left! :) Also, if you have reserved a tribute, please send those in ASAP.**

**CHANGE FROM THE FIRST CHAPTER (Made 9/17/14): Not that big of a deal, but I changed Rhea's backstory just a bit. Her mother is still alive, and takes good care of her three remaining children. Everything else remains the same. **

**Chapter 2: Reapings Part 2**

**Concordia Afton, age 18, District Two**

This first thing I hear when I wake up at the crack of dawn is the voice of my father hissing in my ear. He's whispering in the dark, attempting not to wake up my grandmother, who would be hysterical if she knew what my parents were planning for me. "Concordia," Father says, his voice quiet, yet stern. "Today's the day. Are you ready?"

"Of course, Father," I reply, keeping my own tone hushed. Of course I'm not really ready to be the second person to volunteer for the Capitol's Hunger Games, a game in which losing means death. I don't tell my father the truth, not wanting to disappoint him. I don't tell him I'm nervous. It's not that I doubt myself and my abilities, but who in their right mind wouldn't be nervous in a fight to the death in which only one survives?

"Good. Let's go for our run, shall we? Our last run before my daughter is a victor."

I nod. Father leaves me to get dressed. I find my clothes and pull on my shoes in the dark before creeping downstairs and out the front door without disturbing my mother and grandmother. I meet my father on the porch of our house, and together we break into a jog.

My father and I have been jogging together since I was about six, before the lower districts rebelled. We don't talk. We just run, but yet it is a bonding experience between us. Unlike many of the other Districts, District Two has remained unchanged. Same mountains, same quarries, same weapon manufactoring plants, same Peacekeeper Headquarters. The only difference between the District Two I know now and the District Two I knew when I was six is the newly erected Victor's Village. Only one of the dozen or so houses is occupied, home to the glorified Patriot Salem.

If my parents had a son, they would choose Patriot. To them, Patriot can do no wrong. Seemingly the perfect loyalist, my parents have the notion that Patriot volunteered to show support for the Capitol and their Games. Whatever his motives, he has given my parents inspiration. They now want the same for me, so for the past year, I have been building my endurance and fighting skills in preparation to volunteer for the Hunger Games. I willingly agreed to their request, not to support the Capitol, but to live the rest of my life in fame and luxury. I will follow through, all nerves aside.

My relationship with my parents, Antonius and Candra Afton, is a decent one. We are not incredibly close, but my parents are never cruel and treat me with fairness and respect, and I do the same towards them. My maternal grandmother, Minerva, is more opinionated and judgmental, watching my every move. The person I'm closest to is my twenty-six-year-old sister, Marcia. She lives a few away blocks with her husband and her three-year-old son, with a second child on the way.

My parents and I have not told my grandmother and my sister about my plans to volunteer. Both of them would disapprove. Marcia simply wouldn't stand the idea of me risking my life for money, which my family has plenty of as it is. My grandmother's reasoning, on the other hand, goes much deeper. Once as loyal to the Capitol as they come, my grandmother's opinions of our government have changed drastically. District Two had no part in the rebellion, and many of our citizens actually fought on the Capitol's side. Yet, our children are still being punished along with all the other district's children. Due to the Capitol's betrayal, my grandmother sees no point in supporting the Hunger Games. My parents couldn't disagree more. They believe the districts need to be punished for their actions, and excluding District Two from the Games will only refuel the dying embers of the rebellion.

My grandmother stands on the porch with her arms crossed when my father and I arrive back at the house. "Did you really have to take her running today of all days?" she asks my father. "Honestly! It is seven-thirty! The reaping is at nine!"

"I've told you before. How I raise my daughters is my own decision," Father replies calmly. Grandmother scowls and turns to me.

"Concordia, take a shower will you? You smell worse than a skunk carcass!"

"Gee, thanks," I say rolling my eyes.

"Don't mouth off," my father and grandmother say at the same time, my father's voice tired and bored, and my grandmother's harsh and cold.

"Yes, M'am. Yes, Sir," I mutter. I don't hear what is said next, because I am already bounding up the stairs to take a cold shower and dress in my best.

At breakfast, my parents and I are silent while Grandmother rants about the Hunger Games, the Capitol, and Patriot Salem. My parents learned long ago that it is better to listen to and nod along with Minerva Augustine than to attempt to argue with her. Less headaches occur that way.

My family and I go to the Justice Building together, where my parents and grandmother and joined by my sister, brother-in-law, and nephew. I stand in the check-in line alone, making conversation with classmates behind me. I'm an aloof person with more aquintances than close friends, but that doesn't mean I'm unwilling or incapable of socializing with others. My classmates are nervous. I could tell them not to worry, that they won't be going into the Games this year, but why bother? Telling them I'm planning on volunteering will only raise questions that I don't particularly want to answer.

Time passes slowly. While a chair has been set up on stage for Patriot, he chooses not to sit in it. Instead, he wanders between the age groups, gazing at the potential tributes in superiority and intimidation. While most people avoid his gaze, I look him straight in the eye. He smirks at me and nods before strolling casually back to the stage.

Finally, the escort, Adelaide reaches into the reaping bowl. "Victoire -"

I interrupt her before she can say the girl's last name. "I volunteer as tribute!" I push my way through the crowd of eighteen-year-old girls and towards the stage, ignoring the whispering. Adelaide stares at me before breaking into a proud grin. Patriot looks at my with an indefinable excitement in his eyes. My father beams with pride, while my mother tries to hold back my furious grandmother. I try to ignore my sobbing sister, whose emotions stem from her raging pregnancy hormones, and my brother-in-law who stares at me in a horrified shock as he hugs his wife.

"Another volunteer! Two years in a row! I'm should expect a volunteer from District Two _every year_ now," Adelaide says. The crowd remains silent. "Well, what are you waiting for? Tell us your name!"

"Concordia Afton!" I say loudly and clearly into the microphone.

"Thank you, Concordia, for representing District Two! Now, let's choose your district partner," the escort says, reaching into the boys' bowl. "Troy Gaius!"

A boy from the fifteen year old section emerges. His expression is like stone as he tries to seem fearless, but the quivering of his body gives everything away. This boy is thankfully not a total weaking, like a twelve or thirteen-year-old, but he still has no chance, not with me in the arena with him. Adelaide tells us to shake hands, and Troy grasps my hand with confidence, seemingly over the shock of being reaped. Patriot, however, doesn't seem convinced as he frowns at the fifteen-year-old. Troy either doesn't notice or is unaffected.

This is my moment. I am ready.

* * *

**Knox Sibley, age 14, District Ten**

I wake up at seven in the morning, just as I always do, even though the reaping doesn't start until one. The sun is up and the hogs are hungry and squealing for breakfast. I really don't have a minute to spare. Letting the hogs out into the pasture, climbing the ladder to the barn loft, and dragging bags of corn and soy meal to the pig trough could take more than an hour. By then I'll probably be muddy and need a shower before settling down to Pa's waffles. After breakfast, I'll head to my best friend, Winnie's, place to go horseback riding around her Pa's ranch. If I have time, Kade will want to challenge me to a few rounds of checkers and chess. Ma will serve lunch around twelve, and then the whole family will head down to the reaping. All three of us are eligible to be reaped, Kade, Kimberly, and I. We don't have our names thrown in there too many times though. We have to take out a bit of tesserae, sure, but not so much as other families who aren't so lucky to have a farm or a ranch. The hogs are our saving grace as Ma says. I believe that's true.

Breakfast is a happy occasion, as usual. My family values meals as an important bonding time. Nothing negative is aloud at the table. So we act as though nothing is wrong. We act like there's no reaping today, that even thing is peachy keen. Chances are, everything _is _just peachy.

I gobble out my waffles and swallow my milk in a few gulps. I thank my parents for a delicious breakfast, a rare luxury for us, before dashing out the door. As I go, my mom remembers me to be home by noon.

By the time I get to Winnie's house, she's already saddled up the horses. "What took you so long, slow poke?" she asks.

I shrug and say, "Waffles."

She laughs. "That explains it. Come on, let's go."

I climb aboard Ghost, the small dapple grey horse Winnie always let me use when we go riding. We start at the walk until we reach the edge of Winnie's land. Then we trot through town. Finally, with nothing but wide open wilderness in front of us, we break into a gallop, racing each other past pasture after pasture. We ride until we get to the big hill, the highest point in the District. You can see everything from up here. In the fall, it looks very beautiful as the leaves change colors. There is also a stream for the horses to drink water. Below the hill is a valley, and on the other side of the valley is the fence. Nobody dares venture past the fence.

"What do you think is out there?" Winnie asks, sliding off her horse and settling down in the grass.

"Well, Kade reckons it's just arena land," I say.

Winnie frowns at me. "I didn't ask what Kade thinks. I asked what you think. Surely you don't agree with everything Kade says. Really, what do you think?"

Honestly, I think there must be something more out there that's not Panem. We know no District are south of Ten. So what's there? Is Four the only place with an ocean? It just wouldn't make sense. There's got to be some place beyond Panem, some place with people. People who aren't under President Simmons's control. But the more I think about it, the stupider it sounds, so I keep my mouth shut and make up something else. "I think… I think it's where the mutt farms are."

"Mutt farms?"

I nod, already feeling stupid. "Yeah…. Where they breed the mutts. Mutt farms."

Winnie smiles. "I like that theory. You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think it's a secret District! One know one knows about. Like a new District Thirteen."

I nod. "Good idea."

Winnie grins. "Thanks!" She quickly glances at her watch. "We should probably go."

I nod, and together we mount our horses for the ride back. When I walk back home, I find my brother and his friends playing kickball in front of our house. There's fourteen of them in all, seven per team. Kade waves to me from the pitchers mound why I sit on the front step to watch.

It isn't long before an argument breaks out. The older boys are fighting over whether or not a runner was hit by the ball before he reached third base or not. Near as I could tell, the runner was safe. I stroll over and try suggesting so. Dallas, the fielder who threw the ball, gives me a "what do you know," look, and the others ignore me. I shrug. This is their game. Why should I care? Silently, I turn around and head into the house.

Hours later, Kade, Kimberly, and I split off towards our separate age sections. Chatter fills the area, making the place seem like a carnival than a reaping. Even in dreary situations, District Ten is a social bunch. So much so that our escort, who's name I can't seem to remember, seems a little over-whelmed by it all. She's tiny, about four foot eleven or so. I would tower over her at my current height of five foot five. Her voice is squeaky and hesitant, so it takes her a while to gain control.

"Excuse me… Excuse me, please." The crowd quiets down after the escorts tapes the microphone. "Thank you," she says, pushing the play button for the video. When that's done with, she silently sticks her hand into the girls' reaping bowl.

"Magnolia Tenebrose!"

A girl comes storming out of the sixteen-year-olds section, swearing all the way. She then switches gears and winks to a pair of stunned adults. She also gives a thumbs up to someone in the sixteen-year-old boy section before taking her place next to the escort. She too towers over the escort, even though she's probably about my height.

Without acknowleging Magnolia in any way, the escort draws the boy's name. "Knox Sibley!"

I freeze as the crowd makes a path for me before shakily making my way forward. My legs feel like a newborn foal, and I'm surprised I don't topple over on my way to the stage. I bite my lip, trying not to cry, but it doesn't do much good. I've never been that strong anyway. By the time I enter the Justice Building, tears flow down my cheeks and a lump forms in my throat. My family will be here soon. I know what they'll say. They'll say I can make it out. But the victors, they're all something special. Me? I'm a nobody. And nobodies never win.

**Author's note: Please send in the Girl from Nine and the boy from Twelve. Without them, I will not be able to continue. The remaining three I will take if no one wants them and will simply make them bloodbath tributes.**

** Chapter question: same as last time. Which tribute is your favorite this chapter? **

**Here is the current tribute list:**

**District 1 male: Beauregard Laire, 15, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 1 female: Tiffany Lux, 17, Annabeth-theTributeThatLived**

**District 2 male: Troy Gaius, 15, flowerninja**

**District 2 female: Concordia Afton, 18, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 3 male: Baldwin Fridley, 13, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 3 female: Kassidy Lance, 13, RJB4**

**District 4 male: Ciacco Capitani, 17, CelticGames4**

**District 4 female: Aliyah, 17, Klicker'andKash**

**District 5 male: Khal Lucan, 18, LokiThisIsMadness**

**District 5 female: Rhea Medina, 18, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 6 male: Jackson Admont, 16, nevergone4ever**

**District 6 female:**

**District 7 male: Kauri Andoni, 16, Kate-the-Great-and-Powerful**

**District 7 female: Heather Bradshaw, 17, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 8 male: Ragdoll Marciano, 14, Emi the Dark Kitten Prince**

**District 8: female: Angora Patton, 14, Gentle Alouette**

**District 9 male: Omri Hibbing, 17, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 9 female: reserved. To be reopened in six days (10/6/14 5:00 pm central time.)**

**District 10 male: Knox Sibley, 14, HogwartsDreamer113**

**District 10 female: Magnolia Tenebrose, 16, taylur**

**District 11 male:**

**District 11 female:**

**District 12 male:**

**District 12 female: Anise Sartell, 16, HogwartsDreamer113**


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's note: Here are the final three reapings. If you submitted a tribute who doesn't have a district partner with a pov (districts 4, 6, 8, and 11) your tribute will make their first appearance in the reaping recaps, which will be featured next chapter.**

**All tribute spots are now full. :) I have made a blog with all the tributes, found at .com. I have now found/have been given images for all of the tributes, but if you find a picture that better fits your tribute, don't hesitate to tell me.**

**Thank you to ImmyRose, RJB4, and CelticGames4 for Alora, Kassidy, and Finnegan respectively. Thank you to everyone else who submitted as well. Credits are listed on my profile and on the blog. **

**Chapter 3: Reapings Part 3**

**Omri Hibbing, age 17, District Nine**

Life sucks in District Nine. More than three-quarters of the population lost someone they cared about to the rebellion. Citizens live in poverty here, some to the point of starvation. Everyone between the ages of twelve and eighteen fears being reaped into the Hunger Games, and their parents fear losing a child. Even if a person sneaks past the reaping, they still face a life of hard labor. Of course, I'd take the life of hard labor, but even so, what's the point of optimism?

On Reaping Day, everyone gets the morning off from work, so my parents are home, a rare occurrence for a normal day. As a result, they don't seem to know what to say to my brother Oscar and I. As it is, they barely know how to talk to me, their withdrawn seventeen-year-old son, on an average day. Oscar is easier. Nearly fifteen-year-old, Oscar looks like a younger version of me, with curly dark hair, pale skin, and brown eyes, but personality-wise, we are nowhere near the same. Oscar is loud and obnoxious. His greatest goal is to test my limits, and he doesn't know when to stop talking and let me get my work done. In the case of the morning of Reaping Day, however, Oscar's nonstop talking works to my advantage. His constant jabbering breaks the tension between my parents and I.

My parents and I have never been close. I hate life in District Nine. I wanted to leave during the rebellion and see how far we made it. My parents thought it was too risky. They hid during the rebellion and had no part in it. They were cowardly. I was only twelve at the rebellion's peak though, and too scared to run off on my own. I suppose that makes me a coward too.

My parents have never understood me. They seem to think I'm depressed and want to help me, but aren't sure how. That's fine; I don't need help. I'm not depressed. I am trapped. I don't want out of life. I want out of District Nine. I want to be free, to be recognized, instead of just a farmer surrounded by nothing but single-family dwellings and fields of wheat and corn. What makes Capitolites and the citizens of One and Two more entitled to luxury than I? They are not. I can't stand this humble life when all that is gained in return is a leaky roof above our heads and barely enough bland, grainy food to eat. I don't need to be superior, but I do want to be an equal, and that can't be accomplished in District Nine. Ever since the rebellion, however, travel between districts, excluding the Peacekeepers from District Two and the train conductors and the hovercraft pilots from District Six, has been forbidden. I cannot leave District Nine, and wouldn't get anywhere if I tried. Mom, Dad, and Oscar have a different mentality than I do. They are content. I am not.

Oscar happily chats about the job he starts next week, the job I have been doing since I was almost two years younger than Oscar. Everyday, Oscar will join me pedaling a bicycle four miles one way between the granaries and the fields. It may not seem like much, but the bikes pull carts carrying around forty pounds of grain. During the summer months, I work from eight to five with only a fifteen minute break around 12:30 for lunch. It's not a gentle cruise in the park like Oscar seems to expect, and Oscar's annoying chatter will only make the day seem longer. I could easily leave him in the dust, but if anything were to happen to him, I would be in hot water with our parents. Oscar likes to see how many buttons he can push before I snap. Sometimes he can't help himself, but it is still incredibly irritating. Oscar was born two months early, causing him to be mentally delayed. He is only two years or so behind in school, but his maturity level is at least five years behind his peers. I do care about my brother, but often times Oscar knows he is getting on my nerves or being a distraction, yet he continues on anyway with questions such as, "What are you doing?" and, "can I help?" and telling immature jokes when I am trying to get tasks done. Because of Oscar's immaturity, we bicker often, and don't always see eye to eye. Oscar says I need to lighten up. My parents agree, but all I want is peace.

The reaping does not start until 12:30, so I have plenty of time to kill. The reapings would be playing now. I could probably tune in to the District Four reaping if I wanted to, but since the reapings are the only part of the Games that aren't mandatory, there is no point in watching a bunch of kids receive a death sentence. Unfortunately, the reapings are all that air on tv.

Instead of turning on the television, I shut myself in the room I share with Oscar. I reorganize my closet and rearrange the very little clothes I own. I then make both my brother's and my beds. After I finish, I pick up my Grandfather's guitar and begin to polish it. The guitar is rarely touched, except for its regular cleaning. Grandpa's guitar is his most prized possession, but since his hands are ridden with arthritis, he can no longer play it. Oscar has always had a fascination with it, so Grandpa gave it to him. Oscar never remembers to polish it, though, so I've taken it upon myself to keep it nice for Grandpa.

By the time I'm done, it's early enough to get ready for the reaping. When my family and I open the door at ten to twelve, we find grey clouds and rain. I groan. My family does not own a single raincoat, and even with the rain, the temperature is still around eighty degrees, so a winter coat would be torture.

At the Justice Building, the group of twelve to eighteen year olds huddle together against the rain, keeping their heads down. When the escort reaches into the girls' reaping bowl, it is almost a relief.

"Alora Delacour!"

A shriek rings out from the side of the fifteen-year-old girls section. I can see her from here. She has light blonde hair in a braid down her back and is about five and a half feet tall. She stands unmoving, until the girl behind her gives her a nudge, which results in Alora punching the girl in the gut. The girl's cry of pain seems to wake Alora up, and she tentatively makes her way up to the stage. Meanwhile, I shift my weight from one foot to the other, anxious to leave. If the escort would only hurry up and draw the name already, I could -

"Omri Hibbing!"

My jaw drops. What… What the hell?! The boys around me give me a pitiful glance and move out of the way. I move forward, slowly at first, hoping for something, anything, that will save me from my fate. Nothing happens.

If I look pissed, I am. I grip Alora's hand a little too tightly when the escort tells us shake hands, and she winces in response. I don't understand. My parents were mice in the rebellion. Neither they, nor I, nor anyone in our family fought against the Capitol. I may complain, but I do my job every single day. I have never committed a crime or have been whipped by a peacekeeper. So why am I here? What the hell did I do to deserve this?

* * *

**Baldwin Fridley, age 13, District Three**

The best thing about being an only child is I get my own room. My friend, Milan, lives in a family with three brothers, one of whom he shares a room with, and he never gets any space. I also get to sleep as late as I want when there's no school. Well, normally.

Mom turns on my light at eight-thirty in the morning. I bury my head under my pillow and groan. "Not yet, Mom! Please!"

"I don't understand, Baldwin. You went to bed at ten last night. There is no reason you should be tired," Mom says.

Oh, Mom. She's so trusting and innocent. Last night I wasn't sleeping. As soon as my parents were asleep, I snuck out of the house and went over to Milan's house, where a bunch of the guys and I were watching scary movies, the ones I'm not even supposed to be allowed to watch. His father was out working a night shift and the manufacturing plant where he works, and his mother is deaf, so she didn't hear a thing. I didn't get back until almost two in the morning, but Mom doesn't know that. To her, I'm still her sweet little angel I've always been.

"Well, I don't know," I say. "I _am _still tired. I don't know why."

Mom sighs. "Fine, but you still have to get up. You will be in a lot of trouble if you're late, Baldwin."

I yawn. "Okay," I say, rolling out of bed and trudging downstairs. Dad is sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. The Hologram tv is set on the District One reapings, which have just started, but the sound is on mute.

"Good morning," he says.

"Morning, Dad," I say, talking the cereal box and pouring myself a bowl and adding just enough milk. We're lucky to afford such things, having only three people to find. Mom is the headmistress at the most prestigious school in the district, and Dad is an engineer for the Mutation Genetics Research Lab. The mutts themselves are raised in a cramped lab in the Capital and are just regular animals. Scientists like Dad just create the genes that would make the animals bigger, scarier, and more dangerous to be injected later. Both jobs pay well, and we are never hurting for money.

"Who do you think is getting reaped this year, Dad?" I ask.

Dad shakes his head. "Let's not discuss it. It's not right to talk about anyone like that."

I can see his point. All six of Three's past tributes have been intellectually strong, but physically weak, and so far, physical strength has beaten out intelligence very quickly. Predicting someone's reaping is almost like wishing them to die.

"Well, it's not going to be me. I'm only thirteen, which means I have how many slips?"

"Two."

"Then what are the odds of me being reaped."

Dad sighs, rubbing his temple. "I don't know, son, Very, very small," he says, but seems very nervous about it. Of course, I'm his only son. He's right to be worried.

Sometimes, my parents tend to over-worry. Until last year, I wasn't even allowed to watch the Hunger Games at home. I would have to do my homework in my room. However, everywhere I went, even at school in the classroom, the Hunger Games were broadcasted. It was the law, and had been since the first Games aired when I was ten. Now, my parents don't even bother keeping me away. It's sad and sickening, yes, but nothing that has scarred me for life. It's a part of life in Panem now, a part that I have a chance of being forced to experience first-hand, no matter how small the chance. Hiding me from the Games could actually have more of a negative impact on me than a positive one.

When I finish my cereal, I put my bowl in the sink and head back upstairs to get ready. I come back down in around fifteen minutes.

"Baldwin, you're tie is crooked," Mom says, straightening it as I squirm.

"Norma, Baldwin can do his own tie," Dad says.

"Yeah. I just wasn't done yet."

"Well, now it's fixed," says Mom.

I shrug and sit on the couch next to Dad. Sometimes I really hate Mom's fussing. A half an hour later, the three of us head out to the reaping. The line isn't too long yet, but I do have to wait a few minutes before it is my turn to get checked in. I join my friends in our roped off section. The mood is solemn, not happy and joking as it usually is. After the reaping, we'll probably head off to someone's house, and everything will be back to normal. For now, the nervous tension really shows.

Feeling bored, I gaze around the justice building. We have been arranged by sections boys on the right and girls on the left. The twelve-year-olds stand in the front near the stage, while the eighteen year-olds have been forced to the back, so I have a pretty good view of everything that will occur on stage.

The seventeen and eighteen-year-olds may look safe way in the back, but they are more at risk than anyone else, with a minimum of six or seven slips in the bowl each. I actually hope two of them are reaped, someone tall and strong who actually has a chance. I don't wish anyone to die, but if we have to send someone, it might as well be someone who could make it out alive, rather than a puny twelve or thirteen-year-old like myself who only has their brain as a mode of survival.

Our escort is a buff man in his early thirties. He has dark green skin, a curly black afro, and pointy ears. He looks like a martian. Or maybe a muscular elf. I can't really decide. When he speaks, his words come out in a rough, rumbling voice. After showing the annual video, the escort sticks his hand deep into the bowl.

"The female tribute for District Three is Kassidy Lance!"

Surprisingly, I know the girl. She is not eighteen. Instead, she is my age. Unfortunately, she goes to my school and is in many of my classes. She's a bully, never saying a kind word to anyone. She leaves me alone for the most part, mainly because whenever she tries to attack me, I bite back. Kassidy looks very numb as she walks to the stage, but no tears fall. She doesn't make a sound.

The escort shakes Kassidy's hand before reaching into the boys' bowl. "The male tribute for District Three is Baldwin Fridley!"

Me. It's me. Two slips out of thousands, and the escort pulls me name. What are the odds? Everyone around me stares at me in shock, but I don't have time feel numb or scared. As I walk to the stage, I am already planning my strategy. At first, I stare at the ground, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Then I realize I have potential sponsors watching me right now. I look up and give the cameras my best smile. I even smile at Kassidy, who only glares at me in return.

I'm not sure how a thirteen-year-old can win the games, but I am definitely going to try. To win, I'm going to need beauty, brawn, and brains. I may not be a genius, but I do have above average intelligence. That's the brains of the equation. I can also be a charming, angelic little boy that the Capitolites would be able to bear see die. That's the beauty. However, I am lacking in the brawn department. I don't know how I'm going to get it yet, but I will. I'm not dying without a fight.

* * *

**Anise Sartell, age 16, District Twelve**

District Twelve is gray. Gray is the color of the ash and soot that covers the miners' faces and hands at the end of the day. Gray is the color of most of the citizens ragged clothes. Gray eyes are found in around half the population. For many people, gray is a color of sorrow and despair, but to me, it is the color of home. My home may not seem like much, but at least I have one.

District Twelve is the poorest of all the districts. My family is fortunate enough to be a part of the merchant class, but we are in the minority. District Twelve still has never recovered from the Dark Days, and it seems as though we never will. Hundreds of people are starving to death in the Seam, the poorest area of the District. Everyone acknowledges the dozens deaths that occur on a weekly basis, but most ignore it the best they can, because there is nothing we can do. Families who are not from the merchant class worry about feeding themselves and their own children, and even families like mine have nothing to spare, at least not enough to help families from starving to death. The Capitol is the only place with the real power and money, but they choose to ignore District Twelve's situation completely. They always have. Their ignorance was one of the reasons a rebellion was sparked.

No matter how dark things seem here, I remind myself how lucky we are not to have lived in District Thirteen. District Thirteen is the only district worse off than District Twelve. They were the leaders in the rebellion. Now they are nonexistent, as everyone is dead, killed in the Capitol's bombings. All that is left is a smoldering pile of rubble. Here in District Twelve, at least people have a fighting chance.

My family and I live a comfortable life above our shop in the merchant section of the district. Even so, we have just enough money to live off of. I am the middle of three sisters at age sixteen, with a nineteen-year-old sister named Briony and a fourteen-year-old sister named Melva. My parents, Bianca and Conall, are in their early fifties. Before the rebellion, my family was extremely close. We still are, but now my parents have grown paranoid, my dad especially. The war took it's toll on his despite him not leaving the district and instead fighting against peacekeepers right here in District Twelve. He stresses each year about one of my sisters or I being reaped, and has being to take every precaution possible in fear of losing one of his girls.

"Anise, Melva," my father calls from a room in the back of our house. "Can you come here please?"

My younger sister and I give each other a silent look before walking into the room. Our father is there waiting for us with a fist full of kitchen knives. Behind him is wooden board with rings of black marker drawn on it as a target. He hands three knives to me and three to my sister.

"You girls know what to do," he says.

Melva and I nod, taking turns throwing our knives at the target. When we finish, Dad nods in approval. "Again."

We repeat the action over and over again. We have been doing this since the Hunger Games were first announced. Dad wants us to be ready in case we ever are reaped. He wants us to have at least some experience with a weapon.

"Can we stop now, Dad? I don't get why we have to do this?" Melva asks.

"You have to prepare, Melva," Dad says. "Keep throwing.

"But chances are we aren't going to be reaped," my sister argues. "I only have three slips."

"Dad has a point," I say. "You have to think long term. Even if we are not reaped today, we still should have some fighting background."

Dad nods, giving me a small smile. "That's exactly right, Anise."

Melva sighs, and continues throwing her knives. While Dad may be overly paranoid, he does have the right idea. You can never be too careful. Eventually, it is time to eat lunch and prepare for the reaping. My sisters and I wear our best dresses, saved only for occasions like the reaping. Briony is too old for the reaping, yet she is in her best clothes anyway. Before heading to the Justice Building, I meet up with one of my closest friends, Iris. Iris lives just down the street, and we have been best friends since we were little. "Ready for the reaping?" she asks as soon as she sees me.

"I guess," I say. "I just don't know how anyone could be ready for a reaping."

"That's true," says Iris. We walk to the Justice Building together, while Iris tells me a story of something her seven year did that morning. We stand in line to get checked in, and are joined by my second best friend, Terra, a girl from the Seam.

"Hi, Anise," Terra says, ignoring Iris. Iris and Terra have never gotten along. I befriended Terra in kindergarten, when I was too shy to walk up to anyone and make friends. Terra decided to befriend me. Being a year younger than us, Iris didn't start school until the next year. She became jealous of Terra, and Terra sees her as stuck-up. I have tried to bring my closest friends together, but my attempts have always been worthless. I am always the one stuck in the middle, the peacemaker between the two. I'm often asked to picked sides, and I have sometimes gotten into fights for picking one side over the other. I try to stay neutral as much as I can in order to keep both of my friends. I'm not willing to give either up, so I deal with their disagreements.

Iris branches off from us towards the fifteen-year-old section. Soon after the escort comes to the stage and plays the video. She then casually draws a name from the girl's bowl. She reads it silently and scans the crowd. She pauses for suspense before calling out, "And the lucky young lady is… Anise Sartell!"

The area around me goes silent. Next to me, Terra gives a loud gasp. "No… Anise…"

Meanwhile, I'm in a daze. I somehow find myself grasping Terra's hand and squeezing it tight before pushing myself forward. I walk to the stage, still daze. I honestly don't know what to think. I can't die. I still have dreams, still have a life to live.

"Congratulations, Ms. Anise Sartell," says the escort. The next thing I know, a boy with red-tinted hair and blue eyes has just climbed the stage next to me, looking as shocked as I feel. He must be my district partner, but I don't remember his name. It must have been said, though, for him to be here, and I just missed it. Luckily, the escort saves me.

"Congratulations, Mr. Finnegan Ridgeway! District Twelve, I present to you, your tributes!"

It's not until the peacekeepers push me into the Justice Building that I come to my senses. If I'm going to survive, it's going to be all on me. I need to wake up and get my act together, or else I'll never make it out.

**Author's note: I meant I have this posted yesterday, but since it was Halloween, I just didn't have time. But here it is, and I hope you enjoyed.**

**Chapter question: List your favorite to least favorite tribute out of the eight povs.**


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